We are all of us influenced by others, whether we admit it or not. Our parents influence us from birth, our spouses and children influence us daily, our friends influence us, our coworkers influence us, hell even the guy who farts loudly in line at McDonald’s influences us, even if we were only influenced to get the fuck out of McDonald’s and never return. Seriously, that happened to me the other day. This dude just went and fucking ripped one in line. Not an accidental, squeaker-type fart that might slip out when one bends over to pick up loose change. No, it was a long, loud, thunderclap of flatulence that he didn’t even bother to acknowledge. It was like standing in line behind Jabba the Hutt, which would have been tolerable if Princess Leia was there wearing that bikini, but she wasn’t. It was just Jabba, me, and about six or seven horrified customers, about half of whom joined me in leaving immediately. Look, I was at fucking McDonald’s, so it’s not like I was expecting a gourmand experience or anything. But it would be nice if people kept the contents of their goddamn colons to themselves, you know? Jesus. Continue reading

I watched something really fucking stupid on Youtube the other day. That’s easy to do, of course, you pretty much go to Youtube and click on anything and it’s bound to be really fucking stupid, especially if what you happen to click on is the scroll bar and you find yourself in the comment section. Youtube comments are to civilized discourse what a 20 pound sledgehammer is to brain surgery. In no other format would someone be stupid enough to implore a complete stranger to “show us your tits” while misspelling all four of those words. Continue reading

Eagle-eyed Dogs on Drugs readers will have noticed that I have taken some time off from posting recently. To them I say, go fuck yourselves. Seriously, you have eagle-vision? Gah, I am SO jealous. I am at the age where I can’t read the instructions on medication without the use of an electron microscope. Who the fuck came up with the idea for small print for medicine labels anyway, a fucking undertaker? “Hmmm, this medication causes fatal bleeding from the eyeballs when taken in North America… Better put that little nugget of information in one point font.” If you ask me, important health information should not be conveyed via the printed word. Deleterious effects should be demonstrated at the pharmacy with condemned prisoners. That shit would work, too. I mean, no one is going to take too much Viagra, for example, after having watched an inmate’s junk explode. Continue reading

I had planned on writing a lengthy post this weekend, and I am here to tell you that it would have been the funniest thing you’ve ever read. Fuck side-splitting, it would have been side-evisceratingly funny. You probably would have died laughing, which doesn’t sound all that great, what with the dying and all, but you wouldn’t have minded and there would have been chuckles coming from your grave for months afterwards. But dear friend and Dogs on Drugs Hall of Fame Commenter Squatch put a fucking end to that. Continue reading

When I was a freshman in college and living in a dorm, I frequently butted heads with a guy named Chuck. Chuck was what we referred to as a night clerk, which meant that he was a student but also worked for the University and helped to keep the dorm running. Usually this meant that he worked behind the front desk after hours, when the real, salaried employees had gone home. And one of the tasks that a Night Clerk was responsible for was doing rounds, which meant walking around the dorm and making sure that nobody was doing anything Against the Rules, such as flagrantly smoking bongs and loudly jamming Pink Floyd at three o’clock in the morning. Why he had a problem with me, I’ll never know. Continue reading

You know what I miss? Cable access shows. For those of you too young to remember, it used to be damn near impossible for your average Joe to make a complete and total fool of himself in front of an audience of millions. There was no YouTube, there were no digital videocameras, and the bulky, gas-powered camcorders of the era may have recorded video, but didn’t do anything in terms of delivery to an audience. This, for the vast majority of cases, was a good thing. And since there is no thing so good that the government won’t get involved and fuck it up eight ways from Sunday, the government created cable access shows. Continue reading

It probably won’t surprise you when I say that a staggering amount of research goes into a typical Dogs on Drugs post. And by staggering, I mean almost none. Not quite none, of course. Sometimes I have to drink a lot of beer and spend inordinate amounts of time on YouTube. Sure, that sounds like fun but believe me, it’s really hard to pull this off at work. The last time I got caught, I was told in no uncertain terms that my job as a school bus driver requires that I remain sober and watch the road. At the same time! Jesus, I didn’t get a philosophy degree to put up with this bullshit. Continue reading

When I was young, I spent a lot of time in the woods. I lived in semi-rural Illinois, and so there were a lot of woods to be had. It wasn’t like Siberia or anything, with 5,000 miles of trees separating every couple of vodka-swilling drunks, but pretty much everywhere you looked, there was at least a small grove of trees, and as kids who lived in an era that didn’t have video games, they served as the backdrop for a large portion of our youth. We explored the woods, built tree-houses in them, and later on, in our teenage years, we used them as cover to get higher than Jesus. Man, did we like getting high in the woods. Continue reading

It’s no secret that I’m a fan of bad local commercials, and I’ve often posted some of the more memorable ones, such as the 80’s shitfest that is the Moo & Oink commercial, or the gloriously unhinged commercial for a foundation repair company that features a third rate Elvis impersonator on mescaline. But nothing short of a full frontal lobotomy could have prepared me for the awesomeness that is the 70’s Carpeteria Guy. Continue reading

I was discussing the movie Cast Away at work the other day, because that’s what I do at work: Discuss fifteen year old movies. Oh sure, I’m paid to do other things, but who has time to do boring shit like perform brain surgery when you urgently need to find out what was in the FedEx package that Tom Hanks never opened? (Just kidding about the brain surgery thing. I’m not a surgeon, and in fact have several prank-related restraining orders in place to prevent me from coming within 1,000 yards of an ongoing medical procedure.) Continue reading